Chapter Twenty-Nine

Werewolves and vampires. Demons and demon magic. Mythics battling for their lives—some familiar, some I’d never seen before. They all flashed past as Zylas ran on agile feet, ducking and weaving between combatants, chasing that elusive spot where Nazhivēr’s telltale glow had disappeared.

Fire and smoke. Shouts and screams. Utter chaos as we charged through the thick of it, and thoughts jarred through my head—who were all these people? Xever’s cohorts and cultists? Or, if Xever had somehow tricked or coerced the MPD, another guild?

I had no clue and no way to find out.

A final wall of combatants blocked our path, tangled in fierce battle, and I recognized faces from the Crow and Hammer. I also recognized the demon on the far side of the skirmish, standing alone as he faced several opponents.

Behind Nazhivēr’s arched wings, Xever stood in a long black coat, his scarred mouth sneering.

Zylas sped up. I tightened my grip on him as he coiled his legs and sprang, vaulting over the battling mythics in front of us with so much force that the wind blew my hood off. We slammed down in the gap in front of Nazhivēr. Zylas straightened, breathing hard from his sprint through the urban battlefield.

Xever’s gaze swept up and down us, as calm as though he were standing in his own home instead of a violent battle full of raging magic.

“Robin and Zylas,” he drawled, flavoring our names with mocking contempt. “How kind of you to join us.”

Smile sharpening, he pushed up his jacket sleeves. Silver bands, just like Saul’s anti-demon artifacts, ran from his wrists to his elbows, each one engraved with miniscule abjuration arrays.

My jaw clenched. Killing Xever wouldn’t be as simple as going through Nazhivēr first.

Xever glanced to the side, and I belatedly noticed a tall, willowy woman with dark hair standing with him, holding his arm.

“Xanthe?” he said.

She smiled, an expression as chilling as his. “Go play with your toys, then, Xever, and I’ll deal with the important matters, as I always do.”

Xever smirked. With a condescending tilt of his head, he retreated. Nazhivēr held his spot in front of his master, tail whipping side to side. Blood streaked his limbs, and the edges of the tear in his wing fluttered with each shift the demon made.

Nazhivēr wasn’t defeated yet, but he wasn’t in top shape anymore.

Zylas’s thoughts darted across mine, and when I silently agreed, a low laugh rumbled through his chest. His arms tightened, gripping my legs, then he leaped in one powerful move.

As he landed in a crouch in front of Nazhivēr, I shouted, “Ori eruptum impello!”

The silvery dome of my original artifact blasted the demon backward, and Zylas sprang at the off-balance Dh’irath. Nazhivēr evaded, Zylas’s talons just missing him, then grabbed Xever and shot down the street—away from the battle behind us.

Our enemies were on the run again.

Zylas followed, allowing them to keep ahead as they retreated farther from the intersection. When the shouts and explosions of magic from the battle grew dim, Nazhivēr stopped and released Xever.

Loosening his grip on my legs, Zylas let me slide off his back. I moved to stand beside him, my eyes fixed on Xever as I pushed everything else from my mind. This moment.

The moment I would defeat Xever and avenge my parents.

“Such a fierce look of determination, Robin,” Xever remarked, smirking. “But you’ve forgotten something. Zylas belongs to me, remember? Daimon hesychaze.”

Red light flared over Zylas.

Daimon hesychaze!

His body melted into crimson light and flashed into my infernus, hidden beneath my jacket. The glow bounced out again and he reformed beside me, his armor on display and his human clothing in a heap on the ground.

Xever’s mouth thinned angrily.

Zylas raised his arm, fingers spread and palm pointed at Nazhivēr. Bracing his other hand around his wrist, he summoned a spell, the arching circles and tangled lines spanning four feet.

I lifted my arm too. From deep in my chest, alien warmth rushed outward to race through my limbs. A red glow lit up my fingertips, then veined across my hand and up my wrist.

Xever’s eyes widened in disbelieving astonishment as scarlet light washed across the wet pavement.

My own disbelief flickered through me. Nazhivēr had seen me use demonic magic before, so why was Xever so surprised? Had Nazhivēr not told his master what he had witnessed? Had he not told Xever why he’d destroyed my infernus?

The questions flitted through my head, but there was no time to consider the answers as Zylas’s spell flared brighter. I visualized a cantrip—and a six-foot-tall glowing sigil appeared three paces in front of Xever.

His eyes widened further as he recognized the rune and realized what was coming.

With a blinding flash and a concussive boom, Zylas’s spell exploded toward Nazhivēr—and at the same moment I screamed, “Impello!”

“Ori unum!” Xever roared.

A pale blue abjuration shield appeared in front of him—and it barely slowed my cantrip. The invisible force blasted Xever off his feet. He flew backward, arms flailing, and crashed down in a violent roll. Tumbling to a stop, he sprawled on the pavement.

Xever wasn’t a demon. Unlike Nazhivēr, I didn’t need to hit him over and over again to bring him down. Just like me, his flesh could bruise and his bones could break.

The quick flash of Zylas’s thoughts darted through my mind, but I didn’t glance his way as he charged toward Nazhivēr in the wake of his own spell.

I launched forward, racing for Xever as I summoned another rune in demonic magic. Xever shoved to his feet, raising his hand.

“Ori ossa seco et ferrum!” he barked.

Realizing instantly that the incantation wasn’t an abjuration spell, I aborted my charge and dove to the side. A sizzling whip of purple light flashed past my head, barely missing me, and struck a lamppost. With a metallic shriek, the lamppost pitched sideways and smashed into the nearest building, windows shattering and glass raining down on the pavement.

I scrambled up, heart racing and adrenaline pumping. It looked like Xever’s armbands weren’t limited to abjuration spells.

Farther down the street, bright flares of crimson magic and ear-rupturing bursts of sound ricocheted off the buildings as Zylas and Nazhivēr battled for dominance.

I drew myself up, extended my hand, and summoned another rune.

Lips curling in a sneer, Xever mirrored me, the silver bands around his arms reflecting the bright flashes of crimson from the battling demons.

“Igniaris!”

A fireball erupted from my rune, but Xever’s spell glimmered with pale yellow light and the flames of my cantrip crashed against the glowing barrier. I summoned another rune, and again, Xever countered with a spell. As my mind whirled for a cantrip he couldn’t counter, he swung his left hand out, his shouted incantation lost in a booming explosion from the two demons.

I dove for the ground, and his spell whipped past me. Rolling, I pushed up again, but his next spell was already streaking toward me. I dove again, my palms scraping across the rough pavement.

Xever took aim for me again. “Ori incidere—”

My rune appeared beneath his feet. “Surrige!”

The levitation cantrip hurled him into the air, and he plunged back down, landing with a crunching thud.